


Vade Mecum

by schmevil



Category: Avengers (Comic)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 21:34:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schmevil/pseuds/schmevil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony keeps an eye on the national consciousness (and his own) after Steve's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vade Mecum

**Author's Note:**

> A fairly obvious writing exercise, I think.
> 
> Warning: Dead!Steve.

_vade mecum  
latin: go with me  
A manual or handbook carried for frequent and regular reference._

 

Vapid blondes circled Tony, as if compelled by a previously  
undiscovered fundamental force. He'd thought this was all behind him -  
that championing Registration and taking up the Directorship, would  
permanently strike him from the list of Eligible (filthy rich)  
Bachelors Susceptible to Blondes. Evidently he'd been wrong - he'd  
never gotten this kind of play at joint DoD/NSA parties. Hell, there'd  
never been so many enhanced women in these circles - he would  
definitely have noticed. He didn't know if he should go with the faint  
feeling of relief at his evidently intact playboy reputation, or the  
much stronger churning nausea.

A perfectly manicured nail delicately scraped the back of his hand.  
Equally delicately, he shook off the blonde it belonged to. Short,  
with too-blue eyes. She wasn't offended and neither were the others,  
when he made his excuses and headed toward the huddle of Kooning,  
Gyrich and attendant flunkies. He needed a drink badly. Tony loved  
women - adored them, really - but it was too much to think that  
super-hero wars held some aphrodisiacal quality for them. For these  
ones, anyway. He couldn't handle another request for stories.  
Particularly stories about Captain America, from too-blue, too-young  
eyes.

Ducking behind a waiter carrying at least five trays of stale crab  
puffs, Tony detoured away from the people he least wanted to speak to.  
Aiming for the balcony, he snaked his way through the crowd. It wasn't  
easy to pass unnoticed in a crowd, especially when you were the  
unfortunate man of the hour. A rash of convenient phone calls helped -  
as benign a use of extremis as there was, in his books. He made it  
unimpeded, if not unseen. The wired and armed guards nodded, staring  
through him, as he pushed the doors open to the soft rain.

Evening-blooming flowers competed with wet soil and garbage. The  
garbage was winning, but just barely. Tony leaned on the rail,  
watching the unbroken laser of late-evening traffic in Manhattan. His  
hand moved to his inner breast pocket, looking for a cigarette -  
muscle memory more than craving. Tony had no desire to be here, but he  
wasn't miserable enough to be tempted back into that vice, which he'd  
given up even before drinking. He curled his hand around the wet rail,  
like a tether, and left his body behind. Extremis didn't take him out  
of himself unless he wanted it to.

Mnemonics representing the secure SHIELD channel and the less secure  
police and FBI bands vied for his attention with stock tickers, email  
and the new episode of Big Brother. He partitioned his attention,  
devoting the smallest part to monitoring the party behind him. He  
figured he could get away with five minutes of navel-gazing, before  
someone tracked him down. Idly checking for mission and status  
updates, Tony was lost in a mix of international espionage and SI  
product development when a call for backup in Brooklyn cut through.  
"-tain America. Repeat, suspect is armed, dangerous and dressed like  
Captain America."

Eclipsing everything the else, the scene took shape around him, made  
of security footage, radio and cell chatter, and an artist's live feed  
of the in-progress gentrification of the neighborhood. He barely  
noticed his fingers tightening around the rail, or its protest. The  
police had a barrier of squad cars and glocks between them and the  
suspect. Suspected of what he didn't know, though probably something  
to do with the crowbar. Tony's breath caught and his chest burned -  
what once signaled low batteries was now purely psychosomatic, a  
reaction to the costume and the body. Both were eerily accurate  
facsimiles.

Cell phone chatter was thick. This was going to make the evening news.  
The country had seen its share of would-be Caps since Steve's death  
(criminal and otherwise) but Tony wasn't the only one thrown by this  
one. "It looks just like- just like- him, he's- Cap's back!" He blocked  
out the voices, even the one inside his own head. Tony took a mental  
step back, and a then physical one, away from the rail, in case he  
needed to call down the armor. He ran through the possibilities -  
clone, time travel, imposter - threat-assessing rather than going,  
like he wanted.

Useless to armor up and confront him, if it was just some punk dressed  
like a dead hero. But he wanted to- wanted to rip the mask off him,  
make damn sure there would be no more imposters saving kittens,  
robbing banks, posing for pictures. He wanted to go in fists first.  
Ensure he would never see this again, blue eyes behind the mask - the  
costume dishonoured beyond any measure. Tony wasn't that guy anymore.  
He summoned all the Nick Fury coldness he possessed and held back. The  
Director of SHIELD had no business getting involved in a bank robbery.

More than anything, Tony wished that he wasn't Director. That there  
was someone else. There were other things he didn't quite dare to wish  
for, that he would, if he could stand to look at them. So he watched  
the police, professional, in control - no need, he kept telling  
himself, to intervene. Fast as the guy was, they were faster. In  
seconds he was eating pavement, the crowbar secure, and the mask off.  
They hustled him into a van. Crisis over. The cops, all uniforms,  
huddled tensely, the mask lying on the pavement beside them. It was  
always like this.

"Director." Tony turned, his face already composed. Maria waited like  
a good soldier, hands neatly behind her back. "Secretary Kooning,  
Congressman Norton and Director Innes are all looking for you."

"Ambush in the works?"

Maria looked skeptical. "Always, sir."

"Senate appropriations?"

"Most likely." Maria wasn't speculating, but Tony wasn't the only one  
listening. At his side, in full dress uniform, she fit in here,  
probably better than Tony in his suit.

Inside, Tony kept an eye on Brooklyn.

Steve was Steve, amazing for that alone, but also Cap. Tony carried  
both, shadows on his conscience. In that he wasn't alone.


End file.
